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Full text of "The Gleaner"



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Despite the weather, it's a wonderful day in a wonderful week which began on Monday night at 
11:48PM with the birth of my granddaughter, Kennedy. 

Thank you all for making a special effort to be here. Speaking of weather, Rabbi Sussman is not 
responsible... he's in sales, not marketing! 

What I also want to say is "thank you" - to the presenters who have already spoken here today; to the 
committee that planned and put together this wonderful event, particularly to the co-chairs, George West, 
Professor of Business Administration and a former President of this institution, and Betsy Arrison, our Vice 
President for Student Affairs and Dean of Students; and to Betsy's administrative assistant, Lex Islinger, 
who, as with so many administrative assistants (Angela Reckner comes to mind here), ...They are the 
unsung heroes behind this occasion and much else in their boss's daily administrative lives. 

Thanks also to my new colleagues: the trustees, faculty, alumni, students and staff of Delaware Valley 
College who have made DelVal what it is today, and to my old friends from Columbia University's Teachers 
College, and those from other parts of my life who have traveled here for this occasion. To my fiancee, 
Carla, and her son Brennan; to my family and extended family - particularly my mother, Mary Brosnan; 
my daughter, Michelle and her children, Elizabeth and Alex; and my son, Steven, who is here, and his wife, 
Jessica, who is not because SHE IS THE ONE WHO HAD THE BABY. Special thanks, as well, to Rabbi 
Lance Sussman, my niece, Anna Williams, and my cousin, Fr. Tom Brosnan, for making a special effort to be 
part of this ceremony. It means so much to me to see you all here. 

Since I started at the college last August, I have met with hundreds of people. I often ask them their 
opinions and perceptions of DelVal. I hear time and time again that DelVal is a hidden gem. However, while 
most perceive us positively, they know very little about who we are. Most think of us as "that little old farm 
school in Doylestown." We are much misunderstood. We are so much more than our image, and I believe it 
is important to get our story out. 

So today I want to talk about where we came from, who we are, and where we need to go. Because I 
was a history major in college, I have a very strong belief in the past as prologue. For that reason, I'd like to 
start by sharing some of the very rich history of this institution, because while much has changed in 112 years, 
much about the college's beginnings also speaks to the present moment, and to the future. 

The idea for Delaware Valley College was born in 1894 when Joseph Krauskopf, the young rabbi of 
Philadelphia's Congregation Keneseth Israel, traveled to Russia and sought out the great writer, Count Leo 
Tolstoy. Krauskopf was a man ahead of his time - one of the leading exponents of Reform Judaism in the 
United States, a self-made intellectual, philosopher and social activist who was already speaking out on issues 
ranging from slums and child labor to conservation and universal education. Krauskopf was concerned about 
the plight of struggling Russian Jewish families, and he had a plan to help resettle them in rural, undeveloped 
areas of Russia. But Count Tolstoy was afraid that the Russian government would oppose the plan. Instead, 



he counseled Krauskopf to create farm schools in the U.S. and encourage Jews from urban areas - both in 
America and elsewhere - to come and learn agricultural skills. 

Krauskopf returned home and raised enough money to buy a IOC-acre farm near Doylestown, 
Pennsylvania. On April 10 th , 1896, the National Farm School opened its doors, boasting a faculty of two and a 
student body of six. (I'd like to point out that that's a three-to-one student-faculty ratio - even then we were 
setting the bar high!). As the school's name made plain, farming, from the very first, was the order of the day. 
And yet the seeds of a broader focus - if I can be permitted an agricultural metaphor - were planted from the 
very first. 

Reporting on the new institution in 1897, the New York Times spoke of "the national character of 
the undertaking." The newspaper also noted that the school would be "non-sectarian," and that "they will 
have both the theory and practice of scientific farming." The Times further stated, "They will divide the day 
between actual farm labor and intellectual discussion." Thus there was to be no artificial distinction between 
academic and practical experience. 

It was an approach rooted in the broader view - espoused by perhaps America's greatest educational 
philosopher, John Dewey, that meaning and understanding are created in the doing, and that learning is not 
and should never be a tame process in which students passively absorb distilled wisdom. 

Beyond the specific study of agriculture, Krauskopf also imbued the college with the values of 
disciplined scholarship, good citizenship, tolerance, environmental appreciation, and lifelong learning. Those 
values took root in the hearts and mind of those early students. 

In 1946, James Work, a graduate of the class of 1913, returned as president and began to strengthen 
and expand our academic program. Over the ensuing years, we would add programs in Biology, Chemistry, 
Business Administration, Liberal Arts, Mathematics, Criminal Justice Administration and Secondary 
Education. Today we offer some 42 majors at the graduate and undergraduate level. Along the way, we took 
the name "Delaware Valley College." 

The college is now poised to extend its sphere of influence beyond anything even the founder could 
have imagined. One just needs to read the headlines in any major newspaper to see that the international 
demand for expertise in disciplines related to biodiversity, sustainability and precision farming methods 
multiplies exponentially each year. It is important to note that these needs are at the core of what we do. At 
the same time, the local, regional and global marketplaces increasingly seek out well-rounded graduates with 
liberal arts, education, and business backgrounds to be the leaders of the future. 

So with all this variety and breadth, who are we, at our core? How do we remain connected to our 
founder's initial vision - and does that matter? 

I would submit that it matters very much. And the good news is that, on many levels, the connection to 
our past remains both transparent and powerful. 

While our focus has broadened, DelVal continues to emphasize the highest-quality, hands-on 
experiential learning in all of the disciplines it offers. We prepare students for leadership roles in service to 
the community the state, and the nation by emphasizing scholarship fused with citizenship, the academic 
mixed with the practical, and by instilling a belief in the necessity of lifelong learning. 

Many of our strengths also remain unchanged. DVC is still all about faculty/student relationships. Our 
students are taught by experienced professors, not by TA's. And this is still a place where our students work 



for what they get; they don't have a sense of entitlement. These are attributes that are increasingly rare at 
American colleges. 

All of this is reflected in DelVal's standing in American education. This past fall, our incoming 
freshman class was the largest ever, boasting the highest GPA and average SAT scores in our history. Again 
this year, we have been recognized by U.S. News & World Report as one of the top 25 comprehensive 
colleges in the northeast. These aren't my accomplishments - they predate my time here - but hey, I can still 
brag! 

Because of the far reaching vision of our founder and the leadership of educators like James Work, 
Joshua Feldstein, and many others, DelVal is not just a little farm school any more. And I believe our 
founder would have been very proud of that! 

So there is much to celebrate — and yet, there are challenges. Inevitably, with so much growth and 
expansion has come some confusion about our purpose. There are ways in which we sometimes lack a clear 
focus - not in the work conducted by any of our individual programs and departments - but in the ways 
that those programs and departments relate (or sometimes do not relate) to one another. The parts are all in 
working order, but they do not always add up to something greater than their sum. We do not always make 
the most of our opportunities. 

And so, I believe, we need a vision for Delaware Valley College that integrates all the different aspects 
of the institution. 

Now, you may say, who is this Irish guy who lived on the Upper West Side of Manhattan until a year 
ago - who is this newcomer to come tell us his vision for an institution with 112 years of tradition? And the 
answer is that I'm not here to tell you that. I am here to engage the entire DelVal community in creating a 
shared vision, because, as my good friend Warner Burke, a faculty member at Teachers College, likes to say, 
people only support what they hope and help to create. 

And so, today, I am formally sounding the call for a searching examination of DelVal that will ask, 
among other questions: 

• What are the environmental, social, political, and economic challenges facing our graduates, and what do 
they need to know and learn in order to be productive citizens in the 21 st century? 

• What should constitute a DVC education in the next 25 years? 

• What are the common threads that bind together the totality of DVC? And, more importantly, how can 
we knit these threads into a compelling call to action which will: 

• Best focus our energies in service to our students? 

• Mobilize to help our region, our nation, and the world meet the challenges of this new century? 

• And enable us, as an institution, to move from being merely very good to becoming truly great? 

These questions have been posed at DelVal before, but this time we must work together and commit 
the necessary resources to answer them. And we must use empirical research to back up our conclusions 
when it is feasible to do so. 

As I said earlier, I've spent the past nine months talking with many of you and, more importantly, 
listening. And what I can tell you, as a result of those conversations, are some of the key opportunities and 
challenges that a shared vision for DVC must address. 



First is the need for an integrating principle. By that I don't mean some sort of pronouncement about 
which prescriptive course of study represents the true DelVal. An integrating principle is NOT about 
whether our students take agriculture or business or chemistry or education or liberal arts. Instead, it's about 
who our students must become by the time they graduate - the habits of mind and the skills and attitudes 
they must have in order to be prepared for life in the 21 st century and not just narrowly trained for their first 
job. 

This leads to another set of challenges - at the head of which I put "engaging with the community." 
I want this college to be an intellectual and economic resource for Doylestown, this region, and this State. 
Certainly we do that now, through such partnerships as 

• The Pennsylvania Biotechnology Center of Bucks County, which we operate jointly with the Hepatitis B 
Foundation under the superb leadership of Dr. Timothy Block. 

• Our "Bucks Back" program, created with Citizens Bank and the Bucks County Foundation, in which our 
students help eligible area residents prepare their tax returns and identify savings in earned income tax 
credits that can substantially affect their lives; 

• Through Professor Eve Minson and her students' work with the Heritage Conservancy right here in 
Doylestown; 

• And through our alliance with Vail Garvin and the Chamber of Commerce, including a substantial Small 
Business Administration grant we coordinate for online professional education targeting small businesses 
in Bucks County. 

But we need to do more - much more - and we can, and we will, both by reaching further out into the 
region, and the Northeast in general, and by looking for connections that truly become part of our curriculum 
and research, and that make the College an intellectual resource for our geographic area. 

Equally important is the challenge - and opportunity - of engaging internationally, because our students 
will be living in a global, interconnected economy and world. Again, we do a great deal already in that regard, 
including our work in assisting the University of Ulster in Belfast, Northern Ireland, to develop a Masters 
Degree Program there in Food and Agribusiness; the Cooperation Agreement we maintain with Beijing 
Forestry University and The People's Republic of China; our Tropical Ecology Course in Costa Rica; and our 
exchange program with the University of Podlasie in Poland, named in honor of Mr. Edward Pizek, founder of 
the Copernicus Society of America. 

These are excellent efforts, but we must create others that are even more substantive - that offer our 
students in-depth residential experiences - that are powerful academic and cultural programs, and that stand 
as models for 21 st century international education. 

The bottom line is that w r e need to have more international students matriculating here at DelVal, and 

more of our own students doing the same abroad and, in particular, putting their leadership skills and 

their business and agricultural education to work in the developing world. For we have much to teach about 
basic agronomy, food production and environmental management, and equally as much to learn about the 
huge food provision failures and energy source issues in many of these regions. 

I want to stop on that last idea for a moment - the notion that we have as much to learn from people in 
other countries as they do from us. Because implicit in that challenge is still another one: the need to foster 



a truly hroadminded climate here at DelVal characterized by diversity, tolerance and respect for the dignity of 
all the members of the human family. For if we are to reap the benefits of engaging with new mindsets and 
disciplines, we will need to set aside our cultural and intellectual preconceptions and open our hearts and 
minds to what is genuinely new. 

This isn't just the right thing to do, in some politically correct sense - it's what we must do to fully 
enrich our college and ourselves. 

And it's also our legacy - for although Krauskopf founded this institution primarily with the needs of 
young Jewish men in mind, he insisted from the first that the school be open to all faiths and backgrounds. It 
was the same breadth of perspective that made him, as I have already described, a social activist who believed 
that education should address the needs of all people and that made this institution, as the New York Times 
wrote in 1897, truly national in scope. 

Indeed, without that kind of mindset, we won't be able to take on perhaps the most important 
challenges of all - the ones that go beyond our institution, that face the entire human race. Challenges such 
as: 

• how to function in, regulate, and prepare for the impact of a global economy; 

• how to deal with massive public health challenges; 

• how to deliver education to the much broader world audience that now hungers for it; 

• and how to deal with the growing threat to our environment. 

Let me focus on that last issue for a moment, because it is so clearly an area in which DelVal can - and, 
I believe, must - realize its potential to make a major impact. Again, I turn to our own history for precedent. 

In 1926, through the auspices of one our trustees, Abraham Erlanger, DelVal convened a five- 
day conference in New York City of leading educators, agriculturalists and Governors' and Mayors' 
representatives from nearly every city and state in the Union. The purpose of the event, which was widely 
reported by newspapers throughout the country, was to present and analyze the importance of new trends in 
agriculture such as: the influx of men and women from farms to cities; the depletion of the rural population; 
the growing role of women in farm management; and much much more. 

As Herbert Allman, another president of this institution, would later say, it was a watershed moment 
for DVC. At a time of profound change, the college was fulfilling perhaps the most important function of 
an institution of higher learning: that of a neutral convener, an honest broker of ideas that brings together 
experts from across disciplines to study complex issues and explore solutions to significant societal problems. 

I believe we are at an analogous moment today, when the rapid and unchecked growth of the world's 
population, and of businesses and political entities, is having a profound impact not merely upon agriculture, 
but the environment as a whole. The world economy is projected to grow by over 400 percent in the next 40 
years. Population growth is expected to be in the neighborhood of 50 to 75 percent. 

As my friend and global thinker Michael Gallis states: "Even as geographic and political borders 
continue to be redefined, the world is remapping itself economically into new global trading blocs." 

And all of these changes are having a profound impact on the environment. Yet as causes of change, 
they aren't merely environmental problems. They are human network problems as well. As such, they require 
us to develop multifaceted solutions that reach across a range of disciplines. And that, of course, makes them 
education problems, as well. 



The central issue on the table is no longer that of environmental sustainability; while very very 
important, sadly, the moment for that discussion has come and gone. Instead, the need now is for discussion 
of environmental restoration - repair of damage already done - and for education that is not only scientific 
in nature, but that also emphasizes the social responsibilities that all of us - individuals, businesses, political 
entities - must shoulder. 

DelVal is well positioned to help convene that conversation - certainly on a regional scale, and 
hopefully, as in the past, as a player on the national stage. With that in mind, I am proud to announce that 
during the coming year, DVC will host an externally funded, national, perhaps international, symposium. It 
is tentatively titled: Beyond Sustainability: The Need for Environmental Restoration. This event will bring 
together experts from inside and outside the college, in our core areas of study - agriculture, business, the 
liberal arts and sciences, and education - to address the broad range of issues embedded in this important 
topic and to identify practical ways to realize the admonition that we must "Think Globally... Act Locally." 

The idea for this event grew out of a meeting I had with about 15 faculty members from across DelVal's 
curriculum. I approached this group with hopes of winning their buy-in for a conference of this kind. To my 
surprise and delight, they decided to go me one better by proposing that we commit to the establishment of 
an Institute at DelVal, interdisciplinary in nature, that will continue the conversation and take on the issue of 
environmental restoration - of how to repair systems that are breaking down. 

I am thrilled with this idea both because I believe it is right for our times and our institution and also 
because it gets back to the notion I raised earlier: it is the beginning of developing an integrating principle for 
DelVal. But in order to realize its full potential, an Institute such as this needs to have external partners as 
well. And for DelVal this is an opportunity for outreach. 

I envision having many partners, from large research universities and small, regional private and 
community colleges, to local and national conservation and environmental groups. I also see us working with 
regional and national educators at the K-12 level; I would also include in this endeavor media and health 
professionals, business leaders and seminal thinkers like those sharing this stage with me this afternoon, as 
well as a number of you who are in this audience today. You know who you are. . . I'll be in touch! 

None of this will happen overnight. In both our efforts to fashion our own future and our work to 
remake the world, we must remember that change is incremental. As my new friend and alumnus Tom 
Watson likes to say, "Rome wasn't built in a day - but it was built." Or as Admiral Hyman Rickover once 
said, "Good ideas are not adopted automatically. They must be driven into practice by courageous patience." 

So thank you again for being here today - and for your OWN courageous patience in listening to me. 
I've done a lot of talking today, but I assure you that I intend to continue listening in the months and years 
ahead. 

I hope you are as excited as I am about the future of this great institution. I hope that, when we all look 
back, many years from now, we remember this occasion not merely as the inauguration of a new president, 
but as a moment of synthesis between our past and present. 

Because the challenge before us is clear: On this 150 th anniversary of his birth, our founder's vision is 
alive and well. It is up to us to realize it once again in a different time. 

Thank you. 

Dr. Joseph Brosnan 




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13 






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I was Running 



I was Running through the woods. 

so fast 

No one on two legs could catch me. 

but I didn t have to worry about that. 

No one was within 15 miles of me. 

I was Running 

What else did I need? 

I Ran across a little meadow with a creek in it. 

Deer that were grazing straightened up and started Running with me. 

I was keeping pace with them 

but then they turned off in the woods 

I kept on going straight 

I was happy 

Has anyone else ever experienced this? 

Running 

with nothing around except the Forest 

I laughed it was filled with Joy 

It didn't sound like my Laugh but who cared 

I was Running 

Two wolves looked up as I passed 

They knew the joy of Running 

They knew the joy of Friendship 

I pushed myself harder 

faster and faster 

Nothing could catch me. 

I was Running 

There up ahead was a cliff 

but I wasn t going to stop 

I didn't want to 

I didn't want to lose this feeling of happiness 

It came closer and closer 

I was in a full out sprint 

No one could ever catch me. 

I dodged a tree and jumped out as far as I could 

I closed my eyes as I felt the wind whip around me. 

I was Flying. 

I laughed again exhilarated 

Flying and Running; it was the same 

16 



It gave me the same feeling of Joy. 

I realized I was Free 

Nothing could Touch me 

Nothing could Hurt me 

I was Free 

I was Happy 

Then the cold water rushed over me 

and I fought my way to the surface 

I floated on my back in the lake 

and looked up to where I jumped from 

The feeling of Joy was fading 

my life rushed over me like the water 

but there was still that warm spot 

The Memory of it 

It is what I Live for 

what I Fight for 

what I'll probably Die for 

That feeling of Joy 

to Know 
for even one Second 
That I was truly Free 



Talesha Karish 





Pltoto fcy Abuuuwi Suite 

Sunrise 

The sun is rising, 

It's the break of dawn, 

And the sky is painted in delicate colors, 

The world begins to awaken with the trilling of birds. 

Trees blaze in the morning light that 

Sparkles in the dew covered grass, 

Like hundreds of tiny diamonds, 

The sun has risen 

And bathes the world in its newborn light. 



Sarha Bellaman 



18 



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Vfofo fcy PmauAa Sidfosi 



Keys 



We open the way to many things, 

One never looks the same as another, 

Getting lost is an easy thing to do, 

Clinking and clanking are the sounds we sing. 

We gather in large groups without a purpose, 

Forged from the earthly elements, 

I can close a door and keep you out, 

Or open them and let you in. 

Our purpose can be of a spiteful nature, 

As a group we are chaotic, 
But alone hidden secrets are revealed. 



6arha Bellaman 
20 



A Warrior No More 



r 1iat happens. .. 

Then a warrior loses his will to fight? 

"hen he can no longer defend the things he cares about? 

"hen the image of strength he project works too well? 

"hen the ones he needs to comfort him believe he is fine? 

'lien he is believed to be above all things mortal? 

Then a hews image is more than he could ever live up to? 

hen 1 1 'hat must be done goes against everything you hold dear? 
"lien your heart and mind are at war while your body weakens? 
"hen you can barely see who you are, let alone your enemy? 
'lien all you've worked for is thrown into the shadow of doubt? 

"hen the one you need and the one you want are the one who wants nothing to do with you? 
"hen your image now becomes your enemy? 

"hen the true failure of disappointing yourself is all you can see before you? 
Then the mind loses its edge, the edge that has cut your path thus far? 
"hen the heart betrays everything the mind knows to be right? 
Then the guardians charge has reached its destination? 
Then the ship is safely at harbor, for whom does the lighthouse shine? 

"hen a warrior can no longer be a warrior? 

o 

lieu his strength turns to tears, hidden behind the image of the hero he once was? 
"hen what you've become is all that you hate, but you can't do a thing to stop it? 
"hen the fight is no longer worth fighting? 
Then the hero needs someone to turn to? 
When the hero is alone in his darkest hour? 
lien the hero is exposed for the mortal he is? 
'hen a hero can no lougrhelp the ones he would die to protect? 
'hen the night no longer brings peace? 
lien the sun no longer warms? 
lien the sun turns its back? 
lien the heart and mind are broken, and the body is not far behind? 

21 



When the thing you long to say the most is forbidden by your code? 

When the code becomes your greatest burden? 

When you tire of trying to make the blind see? 

When you blame others for what is not theirs? 

When the only one to rightly shoulder the blame resideds within the mirror? 

When your weakness may be your only hope for strength? 

When the ray of hope has receded nearly out of sight? 

When acceptance comes before the thought of resisting? 

When the eternal flame goes out? 

When the one that is needed can no longer be there? 

When none understand? 

When none should? 

When one should endure in silence, but instead howls to the night sky? 

When the burden simply becomes the act of living? 

When the reasons to hold in simply fade away? 

When the warrior is a warrior no more? 



David Martin 




Just what I nQ6d 

Did you give mo just what I need? 
Do I havo to bo along to bo something? 
Do you know me that wqII? 
that you know I havo to bo tested to be strong? 
That I crave to be on my own 
But I can't leave you behind. 
Is that why you pushed me away? 
fio I could finally find my wings 
But I'm seared 
I want a hug 

I want someone to tell me it's going to be okay 
I want someone to tell me what to do 
But you believed in me 

You wouldn't have pushed me if you didn't think I could do it 
You believe in me 
That I won't fail 
And that is what scares me 
I don't want to fail you 
But maybe that fear is holding me back 
If I didn't have that fear 
Maybe I would try new things 
I would fail at some 
Probably at most 
But at some I would succeed 
I would be the person you think I can be 
So should I leave it all behind? 
Forget about my past? 
Look to the future? 
But I can't forget my past 
It is what makes me me 
All the bad things that shaped me 
Then what you shaped me into 

23 



I don't want to Iosq that person I had boon 

But a little bit of that person slips away each day 

I want to be proud 

I want to bo strong 

I want to stand up for what is right 

I want to make you proud. 

I still remember that day you said you were proud of me. 

It was the happiest day of my life. 

I never told you thank you. 

I never told you how much that meant to me. 

2o I want to say it now 

I love you 

And you meant the world to mo 

You proved that you don't have to be blood to be family 

To make someone proud of me 

And for them to mean it 

was all I could ever ask for 

I want to make you proud 

and so I will follow my dreams 

I will be good and have pride 

I will have honor 

I will change the world 

And when I am asked who influenced me and who I'd like to thank. 

Who I dedicate this book to, this building to, this award to 

I will remember you 



Talesha Karish 



24 



Savior 
L 

Standing on the edge of a breakdown 

twelve hours to go tKI the clock strikes midnight 

My heart races and breaks at the same time. 

Goodbye love, you will be missed. 

Goodbye love, I have no one here to comfort me. 

Lover is seventy miles away. 

Best friend. Goodbye love, has left forever. 

Who can I run to? 

II. 

1:34 PM. the phone rings. 

the name offering hope for a saving grace. 

something to keep me from breaking 

Down the stairs, to the door, 

big ears and a swishing tail 

sanity for the evening 

III. 

I tell my story, choke on some words along the way 

concern m his eyes. 

A hand on my back 

a wet nose and warm fur on my lap. 

Saved for the time being 

IV. 

"The dreaded hour approaches, 

1159 the numbers say. 

It's stffl night time, technically. 

You wrap your arms around me 

and turn my face away 

from the glowing red lines. 

You tell me not to worry. 

that you'll be there for me 

when the hour stnKes. 

I cringe, knowing it's time, 

you tighten your hold 

and I close my eyes. 

Savior. 



Brrttney Soban 



*<£ke TOandeter and T^eatk 



/Hany years a$o there once lived a man, 

who possessed a rather lon$ lifespan. 

3mmortal they called him, though that mas not quite true, 

you see, he only lived to be -(jive hundred and two. 

<Hc traveled to the north, the west, and the east, 

yet it seemed no matter what, he could not fond peace. 

XOhat he was searching for no human will know, 

or perhaps he was fleeing a tireless foe. 

<J\e did many deeds both $ood and bad, 

which left many people feeling happy and sad. 

<H.e explored far and wide as his years weighed him down, 

the unrelenting tide of time he sought to confound. 

<How he toiled and fought to complete his quest, 

and yet he wound up like all the rest. 

Solemnly he surrendered without malice or hate, 

at lon$ last he was ready to accept his fate. 

<H.ow mi^ht 3 know of this story, you ask? 
3 was the one who caught him at last. 



I 



Jonathan &Z,adrejko 



Atl ky Santa. BeKwtww 



26 



ie Hghtfroirf the treeltfadfaded a 



inn 



Scarr ^ 

Each ^raifcifftest 
And she is left c 



tsash 



wn to the ski 



■■a this day/; 



Apple qulFreling, le 
In her chest-lies a era 
Breaking/the legacy so 



ssly slain! 
> in the bryn 
» had attained. 



Barricaded in hate, the light did fade. 

How blood upon blood became so thin. 

If only, she cried, innocence could persuade, 

It may have mended the tree that fell yesterday. 



Brittany King 



Pfeoto (uj hei 



<&pfan6ei2(?.20&? 

/nave jo macA jappakl 

^/tnd'&me Inal dbeanl enaf 

j/puZ/m/mec/ 

C/4/tf/iJo mucA h do 

/naVejucA aieal 'com/ail 

/ /^eace and 'many ft/enab 

'omjomenow / mjftfl 

&fackonuou 

^tnd ' /ekn oulyouk name 

/AeacA out to uoa 

/u/anluou fc> enanae 

Jo come and 'Anoiv Ine fiudA 

~(Jnabud~ 

Ocuide / ve /bveafuou ad /Ate lime 

Z7Tfid ' /wan/i/oii to 6e Aappu 

/Anou/ei/ebi/tAlna aSoiduoui life 

'Siduou. Anou/nolAina aSocdme 

Jufoi abound 'and '6eueve 

j/eabwAaf/Aay 

/u/anluou, my 6a/>u 

&ul youfudl u/a/k away 

^MOuJielneapp/ecjmyeae 
ZTTod f uouie mu ei/eiylA/ka 

Z7Vid ' /Anow 
(//oui/e Aeaba'qfme 6eprte 

28 



&0 come 6ac£, to me. uoub , 

/uxmt/elao 

Cft/ieone/adobe 

^'^peal'Sblcfae /aae/£%oku4 ^ 

~s&ic£e2~ 

^/piaf my Zieatf Sbeak* 

-fai you. 6cdtf& nevek too /ah 

^/tftdno ma&ek /iouf/bna tf/a£e$ 

/ufi//a/u/au#u/atf 



/41/tna / L/e 



'e&eaux 




29 



Sea of Memories 



Looking down 

Relative safety of my bland everyday hands 

An errant sparkle winks, having caught my gaze 

Its net drags me back into the memories 

I was trying to escape 

The feel of your arms 

Your used to be familiar scent 

The touch of your lips 

I struggle harder against the net 

trying to keep my last bubble from escapti\ 

I've run out of air 

Hooded with memories of your eyes \ yy&H^' 2 ' 

Their language, their willingness to stare into mine 

Their startling colour 

As I slowly fight my way back to the surface 

my hands blur 

my eyes trying to get all the salt water out 






Lela Berger 



30 



%rulh 

©*■ 

G$ sit, 

tick, tick, tick, 

time goes by. 30 grand a year for me to sit. 

<S%ig brother is out, 

twin brother drops out. 

"q/'U go back, <^ promise!" 

Gy hope he means it. 

-Oick, tick, tick, 

each day means Q/'m, still too fiat from him. 

^Oick, tick, tick, 

the phone rings, it's him. 

QOe say love and talk of cold nights 

without the comfort of each other s arms. 

^he phone rings again, a friend. 

(B^nother night, another trauma, 

bridges beckon with promises of a new life 

one of) the boys from home answered the call. 

(Z^-umv, jump, pimp, 

no splash, missing, another face on the side of a milk carton. 

(<pteadlighti rush past, q/ crash to the ground, 

hand hurts, there's a dented sign. 

c^ptome again, comfort in his arms, 

not enough to soothe the trauma that comes 

when the room goes dark. 

^O'/ck, tick, tick, 

three months go by in a blur, 

qs missed the call on wkzistmas morning. 

^C/ick, tick, tick, 

is it worth 30 grand for me to sit? 

^ick, tick, tick, 

back again 

new class, sit with the ticks and locks, 

summer comes, not the end, 

not at all. 



31 




(sPvine months since, 

////up, pimp, pimp. 

^wo years since, 

love, love, love. 

©My boys mete never friends 

but at least one is still here. 

q$s he the one? 

"^~&he hell i$ Qy know. " 

<S^Jut q$ can hope. 

^ick, tick, tick, 

third semester, back again. 

@j-oodbiye 30 grand. 

oParents are proud, 

^ick, tick, tick, 

almost a year since 

jump, jump, pimp. 

Eleven months, ijive days to be exact. 

<^4lso two years and two months since 

love, love, love. 

Stressed out, maxed out, drained, 

^eah Q^'m going down. 

interviews scare me, 

Q/ need the money 

don't want the fob. 

^oo anxious. 

^yant bhlance trays, 

<2$ shake worse than the clientele, 
I 
Only time will tell. 

(zfSrittncy <^)o 
\ 



32 





yOatchina frow the shorn line 

A slice of feather through the air 

pomberly I voatch the arotAHnQ darkness coming near 

{Engrossed in shallow pleasure 

terrified, refiA.si.nft to see the lifiht 

Blinded by the tears that haunt you at nifiht 

Gilently I cry desperate for you to hear 

The thunder in the distance cackling vo'ith alee 

The storm, Mil ravage through 

the around voill fall out beneath you 

Engrossed in the ties that you have fed your soul 

that time voill voa.lt vohen you return all vo'ill be voell 

the heartbreak you. caused, vo'ill not matter 

Love i/oill overpower 

Bitter ties to soothe your eqo 

fZefusina to acknovoled^e vohat youx heart must knovo 

Ylo voords i/oill reach 

you've covered your eyes and turned avoay 

The shoreline to distant for you to hear my cries 

And so voith pain I stand aside 

Leaving you to fall, to [ive your ties 

All too soon it vo'ill crumble around you W&$,^ft ■B**^ B ^^7t7si« lill(l c, ' uul5Wl 

All to soon 1 vo'ill move far past you 

A afim.wier of vo'inas catchina the ligkt in the sky 

riMit beside you, your covered eyes refusing to see 

Tke monster inside you arovolina vo'ith Qlee 

It vo'ill be satisfied this creature you've created 

for it's far to late for my love to defeat it 

voith horror and tears Ihold my breath 

voatchinQ and lAMitin^ 

I turn avoay 

Goarina, above the chaos and disarray 

for the callous monster you've arovon to be 

cannot, volll not defeat me 

The storm arovo'inQ stronger, a threatening puling force 

I stand aside so it may follovo the course 

hlth Qlee it descends, covering you vohole 

Until at last satisfied it releases it's hold 

Tlktckin^ in silence as the aaspina, begins 

A strike of vo'in^s, a slash and bum 

Gcarlet icings hold me above 

free from the chaos that voas our love 

finally after the storm is clear 

Geremty in si^Kt 

a soothina touch to heal the bums 

fHava^edby the pain brought upon by yourself 

Ghall you look above and see vonat you have lost 

dazing belovo back dovon to earth 

back on the one I loved 

Vdhat shall be my call 

vohich path do 1 chose 

Vo 1 fly to you or avoay from you? 

by Gamantha Kash 

33 




Lone Wolf Cries 



Pfoto dy Zac Sumuwgk 



I don't exist 

I'm just a shadow 

I go unnoticed 

A living Ghost 

"Bridge i~ 

Oh, whatever came between 

The love I once knew 

I'm lost and lonely 
With no one to turn to 

"Chorus i~ 

And now I think I know 

Why the Lone Wolf cries 

Why he howls 

When no one replies 

Because after all I've seen 

I've realized the truth 

And found out what it means 

To be alone in a crowded room 

And to have no one 

To help you along 

The Lone Wolf screams 

What's wrong with me and when will I belong 

Ridiculed and put down 

I have lost all hope 

In finding friends that can't be found 

How I hate being alone 



34 



"Bridge 2" 
But I won't trust in anyone 

For me, it's just too late 

The damage has been done 

And cannot be erased 

"Chorus 2" 

And now I think I know 

Why the Lone Wolf cries 

Why he feels so cold 

The pain in his eyes 

Because no one answers me 

Even though they hear my call 

Love is far beyond my reach 

And no one catches me when I fall 

"Vet still in hope 

I sing this crying song 

And like the Lone Wolf, I scream 

What's wrong with me 

And when will I belong 

Oh, when will I 

Belong 

"Bridge 3" 

"Cause no matter how I long for love 

I'm far too afraid 

To ask for acceptance 

Too scared of what they'll say 

They all walk away 

They all walk away 

"Chorus 3" 

And now I think I know 

Why the Lone Wolf cries 

Why he howls 

When no one replies 

After losing everything 

After all that I've been through 

I have even seen 

The dark side of the moon 

And there's still no one 

To hear my dying song 

Just a Lone Wolf I scream 

What's wrong with me 

And when will I belong 

Oh, when will I 

Belong 

Kalina Desseaux 

35 



VV SVHV 



I 



Tost*'" 1 '**'"* 1 n 

the sav^-e. 

A bw.0 '«* a \* Y ' 

or a dew o^ « ^ r - 

regard* °T S ,. r 
that rtw.l^s ias «u 
ofoucrtrue^tutire. 



Pr 



. ohns Tl-pp'^3 




The goal of life 

is to make more copies. 

GrettW aemram operation 

of self sh wetware floppies. 

Simple gemPic codes programed for 

success, 
NoPhMg mre, mPhihg less. 

Dr, Chris Tipping 




etter °ffa ie . 
n4t ^eJ r , Ch ° OS «3ou 



L 



D ?Ch 



res Ti 



Pping 




Uui coueqe umnd one dome ojjike modi imtodani wecuid ojf 'ooa AcJuxt caneen. 
lA/ken, we enhn iknouqk ike doond o^ college fan ike fan/st iime, won. iendio kave 
dome fiean. n/o matien wkat t aou. alwaud kav-e io wok tfioa hetben iomonnow. 
Cookfaai allofjike miaiaked and all ok ike. donnow. Cook, fa wand io ikefabjjie. 
and wot tketad^ fan ix uou. don twou. will kau-e manM necjnetd Kadi. KeeM uoua 
keaduf and don i ev-en wok down, pfake ikedeaeand count and do not medd 
anound. ron. ikede one. ike umnd uou. willnememhen alwau>d. So don, i he dcaned 
io dau, kl io someone new in ike kaMwcwd, uon i let anyone koiduaj. hack 6nom 
wkat^ca. want io do, ron ikeg> mcut ikink tkeu know wked: woo. want on need, hui 
ik&f neallu kav-e wo cLe. Be imue io uoua dekooi and make a wi ojfifniendd. ion 
oefaneuco. know it uoua college ueand will end. 

l/icionia rnunzi 



37 




e \a/jain. . . 

<. \a /j/easio^. . . 

S/ouc/i as /itj/it as ajeat/ie/ 1 . . . 

cTenfeeranient sucA as t/ie ioeat/ie/\ 



Jost anc/ 6/oioi/u}. . 
^ S'owAefHijfXjitig. . . 

Sfcuing to/ina f tAe one to/to axis lost. . . 
^ Seoer- ca/H/up a/tc/fofvpoifup tAe cost. 




£/o 6/tVu/ sAe (oAo was /lis 6acA to A/hwvm\ 
(yfiaf -resistant to a// 'and ( a/uj pf/iis cAa/vns. . 
L \o /o/me/ L /ooec/ and f noro a/one. . . 
^ /fine heart Jon tAee, ta/viec/ to stone-. . . 



£/?. <JhiitA 





u'M 



Vlwfo fm Sawmtlka TwkKjwoh 




: #■ 



M 

P 

J 



F0fi£IGN IN THE SPACE OF A ©LINK 



In a public place, 

just there with the comport oozing prom the very 

familiarity of the old 

structure, the brjck.walls 

the way the floopvreflects back' 

the lights, 

everything seems the same 

And then out of nowhere, all 

too quickly a silent see-through 

monster.slides around the stack 

of library books or.through tee\ 

stained glass windows of the church 

opvdown the slick.shiny floopvof the 

grocery store aisle 

This silent creature 

The memories of every gesture you 

have made there previously 

the time you kissed so and so over, 
there in the non fiction section... 




OPvTHE TIME THAT YOU REALIZED, WATCHING THE LITTLE OLD LADIES IN THEIR.UNWAVERJNG 

LOVE OF God, that maybe when you got there you wouldn't be like them, wouldn't 

STILL BE ABLE TO GrVE YOURSELF UP TO AN UNSEEN PRESENCE, NO MATTERWHAT THE 
PROMISE... 

OR.THE TIME YOU LOOKED UP THE AISLE AND SAW THEM- TOGETHER. 

AND THE BITTERNESS FLOODED YOU SO HARD YOU COULDN'T EVEN BUY THE DELICIOUS LOOKING 



40 



fruit you'd been eying, for.fear.that your.rampant emotions had somehow changed 
their.taste... 

the time you and yourbest friend were just there, sitting on the couch, hanging 
out, and you looked up into their.eyes and knew suddenly you had fallen and 
fallen harder.than you ever.should have for.them... 

the monster.hits you so hard you lose your.breath and perhaps youreyes even 
well up- you weren't prepared for.this attack,. 

Familiarity isn't supposed to turn foreign in the space of a blink. 
The shock. isn't something you can everbe ready for. and as you turn tail and 
abandon the place. still able to feel the pamiliarunderneath it all, but unable 
to deal with the newness that has been dropped upon you, 

ygm wonderjf you'll evergo back. there. &nd you know even as yourquick.steps 
carry you away and you attempt to swallow down the tears and regain your 

BREATH 



YOU HAVE NO OTHER.CHOICE. WE STRIVE FOR.THE COMFORT OF FAMILIAR AND MAYBE NEXT 
TIME THE MONSTERWILL TAKE TOO LONG TO ARRIVE AND YOU'LL BE SAFE THERE FOR.THAT 
VTSIT...PERHAPS THE NEXT AND THE NEXT EVEN. 



^VND WHEN IT ARRIVES AGAIN, THERE IS ALWAYS THE OPTION OF FLEEING UNTIL IT DISSOLVES 
BAOtlNTO THE SEPARATE QUIET WELL BEHAVED MEMORIES YOU HAD TUCKED AWAY. 




&nd Place Iiteratere 



41 



\/%ete's a/tam maofe c^ 'me ptetmrtp, 
< \pftefa(t 'dp tite m&& e# 'powt semtfcwfr Amm. 

< ^/%&/HMW fafa& /fa/tf, (Wfd ' (XVftiMK&/fat(Wtp. 




.W * 



O^ ^wv^ wvad>/D cast' V 6ee& p&ty? 
~h a mottflfeat ' dkeam titetf3eem& fa exzrf 



^-tfafj weft cwt&Mfe (¥t fvffifr ve/wtfaet, 
G&nfD' #6e t%e oae fa /tap &fa/rttce,/t<fp &fa/rtfae 



fa ttee* 



Ptato foj WticW! lalmhtuck 



42 



3d the Cromer of^ty £ye 

Un the corner of my eye, J fee an empty chair 

Un the comer of my eye, 'fee you ftanding there 

D fee the pe if on U ufed to know, 

U fee Wood and fire glow 

~J~7ie pathfwe^e Walked on fnow and f and, 

Cjfhe hourfwe fpent hand-in-hand 

f~he footprint/ made on trailf unmarked, 

<f~he fluff we faw in ffy'ef of dai\ 

ZJ fee your eyef U fee your f tare, 
But when U turn, all U fee if bare 

Becaufe in the comer of my eye, 
f^heref nothing really there 



Jen Cforgafh 




43 



Vheh foj Softita BeHtwimi 



%MtLyvoM'i-A-st^c... 

jkeM Sam odd tht wohid & to stcucjt 

9 SupjOOS^ U%i& 64/ VUA£< 

9 'vt nwex utetu (nuxdv ofr ok axdoK 

At ttodst thodX wkod 9 thought 

9s^th&stateM£htsx) biu&theiv? 

So txjuut tkod wt uxam ouXaahtSs without fcncwlKG ? 

JhiL uttkhcwiAq ojctoK 

}row vw CAjptuOwSy tht audituct 

r fka4 (jodlctM ttci rvicv&, touch bthutjgw 

£cuch vattlU, touch toSA curd touch tWudshua, 

So cofwiKciha UvfiAct, that vw SmjomS, 

jkt koAshtst cmIic c(j oM. . huKvJx!§ 

9t SutvuS, vw houfv utccfvw aoiht c(j ki&s cwK ouuJuwvuw 

hut Ov this, fviofvwht, vw vtccin&S, SWAhodt 

_h)c toh^eX the, bbsJl wtyohtvWu 

"Jhxihv ouctoK to dtctLveh, 

~But Vuo toKaeX ojviohtf thcSA vw AtccweA- 

}4ow vioJud it utcofvie&> to act ou tw iaous Vuo IcnaeJv vetlwt 

huiouSsthm Sam, th&show mulJLcjo ovu 

hehind th& ceust, uehind touch ouctoK 

IvWw i& ou chjtw to huxmost 

To MMldCjt WVlod CAMuot otvWiiA)LL& vt SJiUu 

Uut without it, tht show would not vt zloSmJow 

hut wkout nAjwmA, wvwyu thtM too ou\jtQA>d oft tht ouuAjLlkxx, 

y\Jvuih< mm too cJw dtceivtd vy the, ouctoK's, show 

7kav tht ouctoK buAiA SlouhAs, odjovw 

<Hu, (Yioubk^ odd thoul axm fnAM SM, 

Att vh v\XK owVu doina , m& owVu undoina 

"Jnm f^c>iaet, tht>w iA- ojjwaMh, ou rvichtod 

}kAxXuc\ withitu tvw Uvwmetkouuib ouSMjoK 

A&JWOMh, ou W\a*u vehihA VVW MAjJf 

jkb tviousk dots, Hot stouhd odjOVW 

Ivw ouctoK CAMuot wtoOv Vuihs WumSJf (joKtveX 

hut WVWK UlOut 64/ odd thod 6JKM MAM Sjtt 

WkAithm,?WkAivvuAdUdo? 

SouMm (jcK kiivu, theJw 64/ ko cho'vcw 

JoK ouhs mm Sam , tht show fviust cjo ctu. . . 



VcoviA JUodutiiv 

44 




M fcy Vk Goaj&i 



45 



Always Share The Blanket. 

The colors are too bright right now, stabbing into my eyes, and I can't see the 

GREENGREENGRASS OR THE MUDDY BLUE OF THE SKY, AS HER WORDS PIERCE AGAINST MY EAR AND 
I FEEL ALL MY MUSCLES JUST LOOSEN. I'm ON THE GROUND, THE DARK BLACK PAVEMENT, SO HARD 
AND UNFORGIVING. I COIL IN ON MYSELF, TRYING TO KEEP THE CELL PHONE BALANCED BETWEEN MY 
SHOULDER AND BRAIN SO THAT I CAN CONTINUE TO HEAR THOSE HORRIBLESOFTWORDS. I CAN'T SEE 
THOSE PEOPLE WALKING PAST ME, SCOFFING OR GIGGLING, THOSE STUPID STRANGERS THAT DON'T 
UNDERSTAND HOW HEAVY THE CLOUDS CAN REALLY BE WHEN YOU'RE SO FAR FROM THE TRAGEDY 
BACK AT HOME. 

The guilt BITES and SNARLS at the knots of my SPINE AS I CONTINUE to huddle in the 

SLOWSLOWRAIN AND THOSE STUPID STRANGERS CONTINUE TO WALK AWAY FROM MY GRIEF MOTTLED 
GAZE THAT CAN BARELY FOCUS ON THE DAFFODILS THAT ARE MY FAVORITE SWAYING YELLOW IN THE 
HAZE. 

His feet soft on the brilliant grass. A quick smile in the breeze. Quiet brown eyes 
flashed up to the pouring sun. a fence gnarled behind his sweet face. 
"He's beautiful," they used to chime. 
"Thank you," I used to whisper, never breaking away from his perfect glance 

BRIMMING WITH ALWAYS JOY. I AM HIS, I USED TO WANT TO SAY TO THEM INSTEAD. I WANTED THEM 
TO KNOW. 

I STAND UP AND BEGIN THAT TERRIBLELONELYWALK, STILL HUNCHED AND CRYING, STILL 
LISTENING TO HER VOICE THAT THREADS MORE AND MORE. I OPEN THE DOOR TO MY ROOM AND 
IGNORE MY ROOMMATE AS I CRUMPLE TO THE TILES, SOBBING OPENLY NOW. I CAN'T BREATHE. I CAN 
FEEL THE SQUEEZE OF MY HEART TRYING DESPERATELY TO FORCE BLOOD THROUGH MY VEINS. 

She finally stops talking. I do not start, though. I just hang up. I hold onto my 

KNEES INSTEAD OF HIS SHOULDERS SO WARM AND ROUND AGAINST MY CHEST AND I CAN'T FORGWE 
MYSELF FOR NOT BEING THERE, FOR NOT SAYING GOODBYE. 

I STAGGER TO MY FEET AND DAB AT MY FACE UNTIL IT ISN'T RIBBONED WITH AWFUL PATCHES 
OF ALCOHOLIC RED. I STILL HAVE TO CONTINUE WITH MY LIFE EVEN THOUGH I DON'T WANT TO. BUT 
I STILL GO THROUGH THE MOTIONS AND EVERYONE KNOWS, THEY CAN SEE IT, BUT THEY DON'T DARE 
COMMENT ON ME. THEY PRETEND THAT THEY ARE TALKING AS IF EVERYTHING IS NORMAL BUT THEY 
AREN'T SAYING ANYTHING TO ME WITH THEIR LOUDIGNORANTVOICES. I NOTICE THIS. BUT I DON'T 
GIVE A DAMN. 

When the day is finally over and I am lying in bed, I can feel the throb and swell 

OF MY HEAD, I CAN TASTE THE TEARS TREKKING FREELY DOWN MY CHEEKS. I NEED HIM. I MISS HIM. I 
LOVE HIM. 

YOU WALK INTO THE ROOM. YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENED. SHE TOLD YOU. BUT MY WORDS 
ARE SWALLOWED, JAGGED AND STUCK TO THE SIDES OF MY THROAT. YOU DON'T SAY ANYTHING, 
EITHER. YOU JUST TAKE CAREFUL STEPS UNTIL YOU ARE ON THE EDGE OF MY BED AND THEN YOU 
SLOWLY LIE DOWN BESIDE ME. YOU STARE AT THE CEILING AS IF YOU KNOW WHAT IS TO COME AND 
YOU WAITWAITWAIT. 

46 



And I curl against your body as if we belong like this, as if I'm allowed to do 

THIS, AS IF IT'S ALL OKAY. A.ND YOUR HAND WHISPERS OYER MINE. AND MY HEAD RESTS ON YOUR 
SHOULDER. AND WE DON'T SPEAK AND I START TO SLOW DOWN ON THE TEARS AND WE DON'T MOYE 
BECAUSE WE FIT, WE REALLY DO, I ALWAYS THOUGHT WE WOULD. 

"I LIKE HIM," I USED TO WHINE TO HIM. "He H\S A GIRLFRIEND, THOUGH. It's A GOOD THING 
I HAYE YOU, YOU LITTLE WEASEL." AND HE WOULD GIYE ME A SLY SMIRK AND A KISS TWITCHED 
ACROSS MY NOSE TO LET ME KNOW THAT HE IS ALL I NEED TO BE OKAY. 

But now I don't have him. And I don't haye you. 
how am i supposed to be okay now? 

But my brain squelches and burns right now and you're so close and warm and 
I can't focus on anything except the memory of his pitterpatterfeet that now feels 
like my heartbeat against your ribs and i close my eyes, chasing him in a dirt field of 
butterflies, and i won't notice that you haye left me, too, until the morning. 

Sam Xavarixo 




47 



plkeu ? tee fire engine wb, 
it reminbt me of kow ? am 

bold anb baring 

filhrng, untelfitk, anb 

at ckeery at a chewy on top of 

a tunbae, at captioatioe at a we 

M full Uoom, 

fit rabiant at tke tun on a mm 

tummer bay, anb at graceful at a 

carbinal in fligkt 

filto, at luminout at your (ace on a Iritk 

mute* bay. 

]>eep intibe of me tkere it anotker 

pari, orange. 

Orange reminbt me of kow ? am, 

at glowing at a caroeb pumpkin oh 

a Iritk Octoler bight. 

-fit mttful at a tuntet on a mum tummer 

evening 

fit fatt at a puck glibing acrott tke ice, 

fit artittic at a pencil in tke kanb of 

an atpiring writer 

filto, at colorful at tke leaoet on 

tke treet on a critp autumn bay 

flub at cautionary at a cone on a conduction 

tite of a new luilbing 



Victoria ^frunti 



48 



7Xe X)\AttM*X < &c\& 



I ■itn / hJ' cJLc^^e, oMKne -fv£> *KCie, 
c&aaA^C uMc^ a, &AAt&A>X wkfiie... 

LC4^C\/KC tc 4CC <5t/HA itet tc 'fvOi, 
tc t&f£ upC^ t&at /LiiUc^hZ 4pdt... 

B'frJ* CD tc dLe u/JLc ccJULa *fve t!Le^e. 
jet wlCuZA. I cc, I wcuXA lLorfa&AA,... 

I ij&WK OA\s&. kCjae <XA\A MJC4^€A, 4^cw, - 
itet I 4^C Lo^ceA, M/C4^J^l bow... 

Hew tc vaaA^C tJLe >&ee<JL ahcut, 

Ic CAAj, &K<L tOie&AK OA^A- Caaj, -fvO fh&ie... \ 

} 

(|. C4^Ly tc ca^e... 

0/R tJLe A\sitaA\X ^Lc^e... 




piu^ by Amowla Sid£a 






JaAKeA ^. < $wJCt!L 



49 



(3f§ 





SURVIVE 



WE WRITE LOVE ON OUR ARMS, 
OUR DECLARATION OF STRENGTH 

OF BEING ABIT TO STAND UP, 
PUT THE PIECES BACK TOGETHER,> 

AND KEEP MOVING. 
WE'VE LOST PIECES OF OURSELVES, , 
FRIENDS AND FAMILY ALONG THE WAYf 

GONE ON THEIR OWN ACCORD. ;^;g 

WE DON'T KNOW WHO WAS THE FIR%,^# £™ 

TO TAKE THEIR OWN LIFE, 

THE ONE TO START THE DISEASE. 

BUT STILL HERE WE STAND, 

LOVE ON OURARMS. 

IT'S JUST ANOTHER DAY 

WITH OUR BADGE OF HONOR 

(THIS TIME IT'S ACTUALLY VISIBLE. 

BRITTNEY SOBAN 



v 



'Or. 



' » 




Jm 4*7 




j%au//e<M fjfioi/le 



(yAe AqA/{AiauqA {Ae usfacfow aAatAed aAunei qat&btg paffeln* on {Ae u/aAA 
C/nafonce aaam /canAAAmqaeJfMitencAil fodAzep 



/Acq {o imaqine onAq one {Amq, a needAe, axx iAutq in ana / ouAq/{Ae utaAAt paAfelned 'wtfA A/qAA, Aopinq {Ae iepe&/ion can cAlute qou awaq 

/AnowAeflel 
t/AeAAebe yAe, aAaiitq aA{Ae waAAAAe lit AeAjinq, A'Ae lA Aa^nA Aiinea^fiom a quiAinAo a Aiqjcleenpam a cAiute-in,/A'eAelwq eellAq u/iAA 

Aeiandorqou, 

{AefleeAd cf AqAi l aqe spofe utoln cAzan fAiouqA memaliea {AaA dbnA conAain you 

i/Soub tnoisie tepau/Aaiii, C%eAnfeoAjl 

/AaAe {AaAqouite maae {Alt imAA^o enqla&tcnq 

C/Ae ■aecolaAute jAacAHt& cAancinq abound r mq eqet can aAAea{ {o AiaA 

C/# mq eqeAeAt pnaAq jAilt 'Ay afboop, {Ae leeAmaAef ifo ttteaAAq {bansfebftom {Ae ufcuYjcleen (o {Ae one on {Ae cntiae o/mq eqeAcAf 

(/Ai&mcviefo/tueA a {ealfebAel. a leaApuAel of AealAaftinM 

(_/nejuenAa%op& escapinqpom mq eqea can aAfef{{o {AaA 

(yAe movie dAxi/Aq faae& {o AAacA a# mq conactdm mincA^llenaebAfo {Ae uncondcioualeaAnorAAsep 

c^stfetqAme / m Aqr u/onaebinq AowiAena / &. 

t/Aoub mot/ie U a cAhitic-aAiiaqi Axutea me ufcuiAinq male. 



V 





51 



M (u( Hhjusa. Vavifa 




Perfect Q&pmmetrp 

Perfect symmetry, you and me 

£like two sides of a rottma tree 

(ype 're like two lines of a different thesis, 

A>s together as broken puzzle pieces 

<£.ike two strange notes in synchrony, 

QitPe live in twisted harmony. 

Of our heart's the lock, Q5Plcst the key 

(yBoth bathed in blissful irony 

d^ike opposite sides who can 't agree 

Qiftb'rejust so perfect, aren't we? 

<SBut together we stay, incredibly, 

Q*Bet xring the cold storm s symphony 

£Zike leaves of different color and dances, 

Qtbpeakmaoflove and sweet romances, 

Completely unaware of what our stance is. . . 

( lliideniable, imperfect, wavering like the sea, 
Perfect symmetry, you and me 



52 






iTT 




Pfcofa (u) Twtu Buifeiii 



Sunset 



as the sun sets 

And shadows lengthen 

Creatures oe light retreat 

Into the safety of their dens 

Creatures of the darkness stir 

Awaiting the night which is theirs 

In this time of transit 

At the hour of dusk 

Each creature knows its plyce 

Each will play its part 

Save for one that belongs 

Both to everyone, and yet nowhere 

This creature is neither 
Of the light or the darkness 

This ^.tlaith of twilight 
Dubbed a shadow of the wind 

The cry of the sunset 
And the dawn are his calling 

A presence felt at times 

Only in these hours 

Then gone again 

as if never there at all 

Oct of sight and mind 

The shadow is forgotten 

Like a shadow 

Which vanishes under the midday sun 

There when beckoned 

Gone at all other times 

Solely existing to serve 

Hiding his pain inside 



53 



In his hour he stands 

Fear and doubt overcome 

As his element overtakes him 

and his strength grows 

But as his allies retreat 

He is abandoned, unable to follow 

The unsung soldier 

Always left behind 

Yet always appearing 

When needed by the light 

But for those fleeting moments 

Else he is alone 

As even his hour grows late 

None around to bear his load 

Shouldering a burden none should bear 

Silently and without complaint 

Accepting his own place 
Blind to his growing weakness 

But is it blindness: 

Or knowledge that makes 

This phantom all the more real.' 

His presence his proof 
In defiance of the old one's laws 
Pressing on for the good of all 

All those who would forsake him 

Taking for granted his service 

Assuming his eternal presence 

Blissful in all their ignorance 

But for a few whose auras resonate 

Striking a chord within the beast 

Alas even they, those closest to him, 

Cannot comprehend what he has accepted 

Accepted as his lot and his place 

Mistaking conviction for strength 

The beast is left to his duties 
In the dark, none can see his tears 

The sun took pity on this beast 

Its light warmed him for a time 

But this great performer of feats that he was 

Hid his pain from even the great orb of light 

And assuming its job done 
The sun cast its light upon his other familiars 

Again in the dark, and yet 

now feeling the absence of a light 

One he had never known 

But no more would the sun show favor 

And the beast kept to his code as he always had 

Hiding his pain as the sun turned away 

Unknowing or otherwise, the sun continued 
to shed its light on those around 

the beast already forgotten 

hls pain all the worse because of it 

He kept to the code as he always had 

And tuned his back on the light 

Hidden rage, sorrow and loneliness 

Beneath that unfeeling hide 

His guise had worked too well 

And at sunset, his allies of light left him 

And in the darkness, none heard his cries 

None cared to see his tears 

None to ease his pain 

Which he alone had brought down 

By following his way and his code 

So the beast was left as he had been 

Alone with his pain and regret in the cold and night 

The sun has set, and the hour is late 

54 



Why has the hour grown so late: 

Why is this pain mine to bear: 

Am I destined to be alone: 

Where is the path that was once so clear: 

Can I overcome my greatest weakness: 

Or will the sun forever set upon this creature of twilight: 

Of course it shall, as reason would dictate 

The beast was not worthy of the sun 

His was the role of guardian 

The watcher from the shadows 

The beast would continue his vigil 

as the beauty' shone, but never for him 

as the sun set 

as the tears flowed 

as the pain grew 

as the night grew cold 

as the beast dreamed 

as the beauty shown 

Never to have her light 

Never to know her touch 

Never to have another glimpse 

Never to feel her warmth 

His part for her had been played 

He was cast aside 

All is as it should be 

Present when needed 

Forgotten when not 

In pain of existence 

Unwilling to yield 

Too weak to carry his load 

No longer able to fulfill his duty 

To bear his load as he once had 

The sun had melted the ice at his core 

His strength and resolve 

now stolen by the sun 

Along with his heart 

Now comes the choice 

His purpose uncertain 

His path all but lost 

Fate has laid the choice before him 

The shield of day, or dagger in the night 

The beast could not love 

Love was not his 

Never was his to know 

Head bowed in confusion 

Must he now turn his back 

On the sun or the code: 

The shield or dagger: 
The day or the night: 

Solitude or solace: 

Acceptance or disgust: 

But never love 

For the beauty could never love the beast 

And as the sun sets 

All know their place save for one 

Never to belong, serving alone 

For in the darkness of night 

None can see my tears 

None can hear my cries 



David Martin 



55 



SYMPOSIUM HELD DECEMBER 4, 2008 IN MANDELL 114 

For the benefit of this discussion I cannot prove anything. I cannot prove to you that I am Richard Ziemer 
even though I could show you documentation of my paternal and maternal ancestry that leads me back to 
the German warrior Sigmar on my father s side and to the battle of Hastings in 1066 on my mothers side. 
I cannot prove to you that I have type A blood, but that is what was verified by the collection center where I 
donate. 

I rely on documents compiled by 40 different authors over 1500 years of time recorded in the Bible. The 
Bible is an Oriental book, not a Western book; its contents and imagery are as foreign to me as they may be 
to any other Western reader. As varied as opinions are about all the collections of historical references made 
in it-that some are thought to be myths and therefore far-fetched or of God, the Being who is unobservable 
SPIRIT-, the historical lessons from it and from its linguistic evidence cannot be discounted. For example, 
the account of Jonah being swallowed by a great fish is a mystery or myth to some, but when one realizes that 
he was not the only person in history to have had this experience, the printed word remains quite credible. An 
account of the experience of a British sailor, James Bartley, who in 1891 was swallowed by a whale during a 
fishing expedition off the coast of the Falkland Islands substantiates that such an experience is not a myth but 
believable. Statements of Jesus Christ refer to Jonah being in the belly of the "whale" /great fish [Greek: ketos, 
hence the sign Cetus in the Zodiac] and that in the beginning God made humans male and female, (references: 
Matthew 12:40 and 19:4.) 

I believe human beings have a 3-part nature: body, soul, and spirit, based on Genesis 2:7 Mankind was made 
in the image [concrete-tselem] and likeness [abstract-Demuth] of God; breath of life (neshamah/ spirit) was 
breathed into him, and he became a living being (soul/nephesh). There are parallel accounts to creation and 
the Flood in Babylonian literature that were found by George Smith and published in 1876 and translated 
from Akkadian and called THE CHALDEAN ACCOUNT OF GENESIS. 

If I'm asked if I believe in evolution, my response would be "Evolution of what?" because to me evolution 
means "change. " Of course, I believe in change. But we cannot re-create or observe origins. From the eight 
people who survived the Deluge/ Flood, the whole world has been populated by peoples now of various colors 
and genetic differences. What we do not know is if that variety ofDNA lay in the original pair to begin with. 
WE ARE HERE and we should go from here, not bog down in what happened, how it happened, or what 
we may assume to have happened. Evolution is defined as and is taught as a theory. To me it should remain 
just that-a theory-, an invention within the last 300 years of human history to explain something that has 
otherwise been spelled out millennia before in historical documents. We should pursue larger interests than 
such a worn academic enterprise and benefit by what science can unfold for us. 

What other choices do I have? I do not have to prove anything to myself or to anyone else; I merely have to 
believe and benefit by knowing what the historical records say. 
-Richard C. Ziemer, Ph. D., Professor of Liberal Arts 



56 



Nature 

Turning like the seasons, 

Ever changing and evoking, 

Nature is truly an astonishing thing, 

Loving and dangerous. 

Expanding like ripples in a lake, 

Streaming like a waterfall, 
Rolling like a stream over rocks. 

Dreaming like the slumbering animals, 

Moving like a stealthy wolf, 

Opening like the eyes of a newborn fawn, 

Waiting like the patient cougar, 

Dashing like a frantic deer, 

Dancing like the hawk in mid flight. 

Feeling like the bristly pine boughs, 
Scattering like fallen leaves, 
Blooming like a wild/lower. 

Whispering like the breeze through trees, 

Yelling like the wind in a canyon, 

Ever changing and evolving 

Loving and dangerous. 



Sarha Bellaman 



57 



Ptato foj F*ed Kicwm 



Afttfv ike Tuil Moott 

/#* my/ keant / wish / were so complete. 

Something/ to be awed at. 

Something/ everyone looks' up/ to. 

^Wishing 1 could be so set Up my/ ways/. 

Always having/ a/ steady path/, 

And fox once to g%in> so sincerely 

£Utc the man' on> the moon/, 

r Who hides his many faces, 

Except/ one: cp smile. 

And I took/ at it Up awe, pnayUtg 

That I could spend just one night 

As the moon/. 



Sakha/ 'Beltanuup 



58 



J^aces ofJiuna 



binder the light of the moon 

tin hear is stiireci 

Sparking fire and love in the sultiy call 

The golden moon warms the siren 

She searches for her lover, the one who doesn't want her 

The pah mystery of the full moon 

the mind wanders 

longing and loneliness conspire in the heait 

creating pain and torn apeirt 
Jialfthe moon recalls the memoiies 

sweet moments of security 

a coil of remorse for those who see the embairassment 

of an action ill done 

who didn't see what he looked like in the light 

who laughed of his spite and kissed him with love 

Tlie crescent calls for a time of release 

sing and dance in the peace 

who can't seem to forget his touch 
jtfllow release, burn out the confusion, the pain, the need 

Jiight hold back the memoiies 

t>on 't bewitch those with heart 

who cant ignore themselves in the dark 

Instead give peace, serenity, knowledge of who to be 

■for under the moon in the night 

That's when I wish to give up the fight 

To give in to instinct, yearning, and pain 

to cry for my broken heart 

jfot to obey the logic forced into me 

to smirk and agree, continue fighting , learning more 

If only it hadn't taken this 

If only I could have learned, made myself leani without having to 

lose his kiss 

by Samantha Jvash 

59 



A ycuhq boy hith, alohe ih a Kootvt. AM- hiakt ke kah, waited, paciticj the \jtooK- ahd waitihtj . He waith, \jo\, the daiMh, ahd me executioh, it bhih^^,. 
7ke dtuuh bMtuzh, death, aKcJbuJL ahd ihewhJote death. Ccuhtlehh, titvuh, ke kah, btaKed at the wa&h- ahd paced We (jlooh,. Adwayb, me Wm, 
humieh, c(j hteph, (jKoM, ohe watt to the otheh,. Adway^, the ^ajvie tnahkihy oh the wail. NeveA, ahy change, ahd heveh, ahy e&cape. Wky , ke ahked 
konhet(j {jcKwkatheeiv^hketkeh^iMlohthtxhve,. Wky kad thih- be^aileh hUw? At iMch a youh^ aojt. Too youhcj (joK, huch a (jote. JoKalikih, 
dhead, pteadiht] ahd auehtichitiq , tike daivh dhew eveh, clchseK. 7ke fjihht KojA cMpt oveh, the kohi^oh, (jOh, htoheh, thah expected, yet (jOh, too hvoh-. 
How OvohJue the hakt o(j day tejhah, dehcehi into dahkhehh, (jOh, thih, boy . 7kih, yeuht) boy , ami kih, emeuhch. A dh/ih^e, calm. catne oveh kiln, ah, 
the itov'i, hmh, wahhed oveh, kiJn, thhcuak the window . 7kih, wah, hot kih, choice, but it wah- kih, (jote. OatheA, thah (jtykt the, inevitable, pehhaph, 
it ih, beht to accept wkat muht be. £hcuqk auehtiohih^ ah, tc wky thih- ih- kapnehihcj to kihv. yd behind, thih- [>hvht oft peaceful acAuiehcehce, the 
hhiaU, boy htitl chied out, wky fvwht it be, hae? A hvah catwe to kih, dooh, ah, the iuh bhx>[e, oveh, the kohinoh,. He, wah, ahf-ed ift ke wah, heady , ah, ifl 
it hiade a diS^thehce. He, hcdJcd ah, a Uh^tc hdeht teaK hotted dowh kjA- chee[ . He, wah, bhouykt beftohe the chowd, yet ke keakd ahd Aaw hohcofj 
thetvi. Hih, tiAth, wehe (jioceJL oh, kih, (jatheh,, the huih jhtdihe) o(j(j the fvudJL on, kih, cheht. Ahy tehehttneht ke kaJ, towahd, kiM, imoA, Mim loit ah, 
ke hihxMjy nieaAei, with kih- eyeh,. % thenleA, Keached kih, (jotheh,, ke JkcweJi M U^hh, o(j it. Hih, (joce uKchatujeJl, ui^eelih^ . He, teJnply ncMeA, 
to a, mah, behihd, the boy . At thih, nod, the boy took kih, twhithoh,, (tow huJnJb to wkat ke khecM wah, about to mnniK. Ah- ke tooY- kih, ueixtioh,, ke 
\joim the,iitMO>utbeiha bhx>ux\kt (johth. 7ke hMiohA wah, pheUhteJ,, and- ta^eh,. Ah, CJ (j>voin, aiwtheh-X eyeh, ke, biMi xhehMOhJlhxdhjeJl. % kcveAeA- at ith, 
vetuth (jo\, a HwKMht, tJkiKihy in the buhliykt. At anotkeK hi^hni, the hwo>ut catvu, aktiht) Ajoimk, deavituj thtieucjk the nhji^eteJl heck, ikeboy'h, 
eiAeh, hotv opened, >JLa\iJM\ at the kead oh- the cjKcuhd. ike kead o(j the, pvuuv ke kadjuht ejujeuted. Had bean, fjO>uzed to eazcute. 7ke boy X (jotvuh, 
hcdled, atetvdiy , kih, boy ktivih^ cchwteted the tahk ke kad fJL bejjcKe, kiSvt. 7ke ohce ijehtte boy k&d becctvie a ^itteh,. With the- nhihchtX, kih, 
Miccence too kad been- UhtthexJi to die. % wah, ah, inuch kih, eMCutioh, ah, the, fnah, beijOKe kitvi. 7ke kead, ih, Ketncved fww , ahd me ckowd be^inh, 
tc dihnehM,, but the, boy KeMAihh,. 7kih, ih, hot, koiMeveh,, the, boy that paced kih, >wohi ivWve kouhh, befjO>ie. ikih, ih, hot We boy mho cMed out trtky 
io (jeXvetdtu. Ncttheboy wkc kad ulehtty pleaded to ahuh^tehh^ keaht. ikodboy iMOh-dead. Kdiedby the htvoU o(j theboy uoehieehow. Ohkih, 
iiAeh-, ho IcnaeA, the ihhocehce ke [.hew . }Joim the icy itahe o(j ohe i*ikc kah, [died ahotheh,. ike batvu, uMcuAhehh, ke 4/uu ih kih, (jothex'i, uyeh,. Oh, 
kih, ejyeh, you, cah hee me hehvhahth, oft We hxah keiuht [died, ahd the youtuj boy wkc died with kirn,. 




■pitch lu, Dt. Kowut Scloumw 



60 



And maybe that was her downfall 

"Don't be sad." His voice, soft as snow, makes her glance away 
for a moment before she catches the flick of his angled smile again. 

"You're leaving, though..." She's close enough to touch but far 
enough away that it hurts to make that connection only to break it 
again in five minutes and keep it broken until the next time he comes. 
Her fingers slip restless over her knees and her organs deflate. 

There's a long minute of silence punctured by quiet filled sighs. 

He pushes his mouth over hers and her heart gasps with stupid 
hope. She moves to fit inside his warmth more comfortably, just more. 
Her hands falter against his throat, his ribcage. She swallows the 
urge to cry and just works her urge to stay past his teeth. His tongue 
velvets into her mouth like autumn, like syrup, like blood. 

She can feel his goodbyes bursting against her palms. 

His hand steals her hand and begins to guide it down. Her 
stomach tightens, her mouth starts to close off the deep kiss. 

Can he really be like all the other boys who treat her like a piece 
of meat that they can keep grilling until she's burnt? 

He pulls her hand away from his body and laces his fingers in 
between hers, holding her so softly, so tightly, as if they don't need to 
ravage each other like ravens. 

She almost chokes on the beauty of his palm pressed against 
hers like a secret. Tears bite fiercely now. She can't let him go. 

The kiss deepens, becomes slightly aggressive, intensely 
passionate, fighting to hold on for as long as possible as his fingers 
caress over her knuckles winefully sweet. 

And then, it dissolves into the most broken, most heartfelt, 
most gentlest kiss so slow on her mouth. Slowly he moves onto her 
neck, shadows of kisses, and then crunches her against his chest, his 
stomach, his whole body, and he just holds her, cradles her spine with 
his palm slow, as if she is a candle, as if she is his whole world, as if he 
would never hurt her. 

61 





He finds her mouth again, kisses her, and then whispers, "I have 
o go now," They walk out of the room, her curled like his intestines; 
his arm anchored around her waist. Their steps are treasured unti 
^^g^each his jeep. He tugs her against him for one more long kis 
and she clutches^at the collar of his shirt. He breaks away abrupt: 
hops into .the driver's seat, and leaves her there, standing agai^jt , 
thS hea#^ess of everyone's starekas they shake their heafts £t fcrf^ 

iy hopeful hopes and she just watches hjrrj until ; sh£ C^t »9^**J 

■tfrninq sigfekintiliihl d&i*& *• 



tore, until sn*e can't hear their burning sig 

"JOS- l T k ' * 

^ven feel her lu/vgs hitchingsat hisj^pne swellinglilfc; a sob in hen 
throat. 










m 




\ x 






<§5kd& 



Kxmo 



(lf<w u&ed to lilay all tlte fame 

Kz//iat axzA oaclc In live claw 

(yueicwe- / uotc umllced oat opwi/u life 

WoeMwe noa drifted awau 

Osmund wivewe u>e atenl ~ wwcma< 

Qf aaedd "uou'll nevw xmrnv- 

Qffpow nvacA Of wuMed tlvat /wano 



/~ 



C7o ^0adduj ^0audu 

/won't ' uou /ilau aaai/n 

(±M /ileoje, oli/vleade 



64 



t/def&re mis soma enus 

Qy/Ca/ce it sweet 
^z^aud'Uj Alt t/vose /teu& 

{£x>laAi It once move Sow me 

Qf ■miss Aota toe used to tat/c 

Qplpow- / uou aeee/ited me 

-^newutAlng we< tiuct is aone 

Osmond act trial 's teftwre t/ie memwwles 

~ Wowiaae /~ 

(jout Qf nevew sAotoed it 

^yYevev letanwone Amoco 

Qftpoco mue/i Qf missed 

^//vat kiciMO 

le/veat k-Jiowis / 



^Sciwyu It once move 

~ L/awldae 3 ~ 

(Q/i ^Sadduj ^Sac/du 

Of still love you 



(i/otc /tut 'me tAwoiiq/i 
Sdoe/i-eat T~Jiovus / 
~ *&blaAi it once move 
LxW: me 

^JX)ali?M !^0esseaua; 



65 




Plwitt faj Jotepk KiaHet 



■ . 



S9llHfl 








^ 



mas** 



*$; 



'-- 



All by Jackie tttojica 
Second PCace 



% 



21:16 

It's winter now, December has arrived, 

yet we still go ahead with our plans, 

the city is calling. 

We're an hour behind, hurry now, 

fast food just isn't fast enough. 

The truck roars to life, 

as six bodies fly down the darkened highway. 

December 5 th , 2008, hour 21:16, 

we've made it. 

We feel the beat of the city beneath our feet, 

and hurry across streets filled with traffic, 

signals to stop and go, not things that get our attention. 

We rush, a line of us cutting through the crowd, 

and stare at the tree that from a distance looks like it is in flames. 

We wander, the mission fulfilled, and find ourselves paying 

six dollars more for a cup of coffee than we should be. 

Laughter fills the night air, our breath appearing in puffs above our heads, 

we criss-cross down the street, swerving through the other pedestrians. 

I breathe in the biting cold air, smile, 

the windows are down, the music up, 

Broadway may never be the same again. 

Our adventure may not belong on the front page, 

but I know that the night has left a mark on me, 

beneath the surface. 

Somewhere underneath the chilled pale skin, 

and frozen blue lips. 

He tells me I should have borrowed his coat, 

and instead of laughing at my frozen form, 

the black fabric that was once his 

becomes my blanket, 

as we drive home 

with '90s music filling the truck cab. 



% 



Brittney Soban 



Vkofo fcy Heaih&i Hogfcouj 
68 



~7iejte ojie so%e things ikai kaoe co%e io %g atttodic/k, 
Qs/ou kaoe so%e ffaios begc/hd co / kp/ieke / hQco / h. 

Oue/iail gou ad aQ if you ajie th/&e. 

Qjfouji aUe\iic/k spa^k is io ike a^kallesi deg/iee. 

Hfou devou/i fao/ie ika\ a sMi'he. 

Qy/ei kaoe ike body like c/he of ike c Divi / ke. 



Qyfouji Liability io %ake a co'Wkii / ke / ki fyHk %e mik sijicfe. 
Qjfou uould'k i kkoM a ge^ui^e decision io save gouji ige. 

~Tke mg gou iiUeji hakes %e biHe/i 

Qjou/i / ki%icki / kg iS Qicke / hi / hg 

A'hd gou do'h 'i kkoio ike / kea / ki / kg o/cfea / hi / hg. 

Bui kave "ho fea/i, %g dea/i. 
Q love gou. in*, eoejvg t/okick wag, 
A'kd ck ike e'kd pla^k io siag. 

Q-lell kaik 'koji/ig like a Mo^ka^s qcoji% 

Bui kJiikoui gou, ikiQ MO / ka / k Mould be ioji^k. 
Sa / ka / hika Kellg 



Vlwk- (uj SmIw BeKaMWK 




Pfofo to) rued 




Xh. Ktmai Sckc 



*,;■ L 



Indication of Your Awareness 

The thunder growls 

My eyes search 

looking for that flickering bar 

but it's just slate gray 

the orange indication of your awareness of me 

missing 

I never thought that bar could be so bleak 

It's not the average gray associated with rain or snow 

just the darkness of wet rock that the water flies past and over 



71 



I need you 

and yet I fear that we're stifling us or maybe I'm just stifling you 

Still the pressure of the water forcing us down into, onto the stone 

separate rocks that seem immobile because of the rush of water around us 

No way for a solitary rock to stop the flow 

and although I'm rocking, it seems I've never been able to shift closer 

I've almost lost the will to try 

How come I can talk more to people who are basically strangers than to 

you? 

This isn't the way it's supposed to be. 

My river is no longer getting me through-it's pulling me down 

and you're like the surface, ever elusive 

as my fingers grasp, outstretched, attempting to make it 

before my air is gone, 

before my lungs release the last gasp of everything I need to survive. 

I'm floundering in the confusion of what I think I've done to us. 

Everything seems to be yet another wave shoving me downwards. 

I don't want this to be the end. 



Lela Berger 



72 



hy\ Lord. SeoVAml 

6WM Ae<566\\A$ U.VOW A. fri&d wM. 

^Fcxllini Aov)\a from a. dorm^ Ikund^r^kW, 

kUnMin&fe £<xf Ik tW^f fe woowli^kl. 
A e^t o| $\<x\\Aes$ lokik Ae\>e\ooeA vfoud. 

6oc\a littk criWers come owl frf some ju.\A, 
Xo A*x\Ace alwss UW sluwlwiMi \>e\AeA\k. 
A midwM ckxse a!?ou.\A{1, \x\ddew from zwa, 

hv\ A?$o\\Ae duxflmesz AfAclwkA wr&dk. 

t>e\>e\ooed uixjier s\z$es awA $W$ k&$SWL 

CreAed W Sod, f-usl wD ^ouU il w&ak? 

To <?fiw }[i£ AWlmAs 'foiW a\aA w<\\$\\Ak. 

Ykte ^kitlbi ^€ia^ Uft aII to f£i/nmlw, 

Brouik! -forlk k^fg from We cold mo A t>ecem\>ef. 

Lord S^o\)a.w\a\ 

^Jo^kuA l)e%\ Ztwmx 




73 



fictions speak louder than words 



Time and time again you have given me words filled with hope and love 

believing them I gave you my heart 

Time and time again you disappoint me, hurt me with your actions 

You gave me a vow on your love that no longer would you harm me, you strove to he noble 

1 was afraid, for so much did you offer, an offer you couldn't, you were not ready to fully pursue 

a disillusioned boy who wanted to give his soul 

I never asked for it, I never claimed to be able to care for it 

for I was only a girl, young in body wise in heart, and I knew that you were not strong enough 

Another promise made to me, this one of chastity and loyalty 

merely days or was it only hours later, you betrayed me 

in an act of fear, fear of yourself, of me, of the future and love you broke everything 

lour bitter words hide your shame, your silence your pain 

The fear seemed to almost eat you alive, and to stave it off you offered it the one thing that was as precise as the fear's 

strength, your love and our trust 

So the trust was broken, like a tree uprooted from the earth, the love once as beautiful as a rose in bloom, wilted and became 

sick with rot 

So now I look on the shambles of the past, of the girl and the boy and the love they had 

flow I am different, I have reclaimed the fire within, I fly forward with my life 

I wonder if you'll ever fit in 

It is not pride that I am holding so dear, that is only part, no, it is my heart that I protect now 

Twice you swore to do right by me, care for me the way one would for whom he loves, respects and trusts 

Twice now for one thing or another you disappointment me, and for the longest time I took it as a bullet to the heart, believing 

it was all my fault, that I wasn't open enough, strong enough, that my love wasn't what you sought 

Twice now I've come to realise after the swell of pain calmed and the storm set into the eye, it is not I who was to blame, but 

my lover 

It is his fear that drove him insane, to do something so wrong 

It is his pain and his fear that drives him to run, until finally he is worn out and wants to return 

I welcomed you back slow and cautious, terrified of what I would find 

I found a boy who believed he was a man, who thought that dressing up would be enough to play the part 

He was wrong 

It took the mightiest of falls to bring him down, to lay waste to all that he held dear 

It took the hardest of blows to tear her down, a phoenix blown out by a hurricane wind 

Only after the pain fell through, only after the tears and pain seeped out could she start to begin a new 

I wonder what the journey is that your taking now 

This journey that you had to leave me in order to seek, the knowledge that will come to you 

It's not enough to just come back this time, it's not alright to believe that all will be forgiven and reborn 

Trust is gained over the course of time, of keeping your word and reinforcing it with your actions 

Respect is earned alongside the trust, respect that you do keep your word, that your actions back it up 

ror so long I've trusted you, and respected you 

Time and Time again it hurts 

I'm tired of watching you hurt me again and again, making new promises and then 

another betrayal. 

Regardless of what cycle was closed with your two brothers and the bitch 

we have our own cycle to see through 

TSefore it was I who revived us, now it must be you 

So what the f*ck are you going to do. 

by Samantha Kash 

74 



Abfoalofofaft 

Htf Itttk fmndt, ifou fufm 

Akoift mtk d pin, 

trapped owyt, pwph, wdfun etiriptdfoife 

In wfm tkodtet, colore, wdfinft. 

Ifw'dk, ttnwforrtf, ehaofafc, andwmil- — 

Tkt tMwnfwa A/won ofcfa&olott Mm — 

fyu oh tkt met important whom In tkt n/orfd; 

tyou art tMttw tkw mt( (our f maum fipe. 

Kajk from WOXgogoo. wdtpbee 

from frfa&olott frapcfaf, Ptnmulvwia., »aj( up nortk 

fm mah wbr ton^u dm&t ttiitk tfoun uMntionaitMfc 

fm art mt{ •foundation — mif &wmu lift support. 

f] ' ffatityt mull fluffy mountain tope for diah-etitt cm ntvtr dimto, 

Tkt plta&urt ptrctlitd m mil Maim fy a. dtltMlt fftrektu e Kiw. 



Karltna. I. Prow 
UfPla&tt-cttratunt 



75 



76 



The Gleaner 

High School Writing 
Competition 



The English Department 
is very happy to have sponsored its twelfth 

high school writing competition, 
which was designed to showcase the work 

of young writers in the area. 



77 



Superiority 

It is clear that man 
is the superior being 

On THIS GREEN EARTH. 



The magpie is a greedy bird. 
She hoards her shiny stash 
Away from prying eyes. 



The lion is a jealous cat. 

He threatens those who venture 

Into his mighty kingdom. 



The dolphin is a drama queen, 

And the smallest things amuse her. 

She digs for dirt on other dolphins' doings. 



The peacock is vain indeed. 

His valuable time spent preening 

Like a runway model. 



to have combined all of these creatures' flaws 
Into one Being is a true accomplishment. 
That is why man is truly superior. 



Michelle Buesking 

Council Rock High School North 

Grade io 

Mrs. Brenda Hall 



78 



The Cuofey oiA,es 



A llite of \M,tv^, rendu -for war, 

All with esprit de corps 

Rj/tiA, fron*. the treuvches at the sou-i/vcl of a beLL 

•Rjxsh ivJto bcittLe, rush Ikvto hell 



Fire i\A* frov^t av^d fLflku.es frokvt, behind, 

Mli/ves Iia, the ground flkvol death -froiM, the steles 

A fight for survival, to co^vte ou.t ahead 

A fight with kvo wlkviA,ers, 'til the last kvcauv Is dead 

As a deathly gas seeps fron*. the grou.iA,d, 
Corpses foriM, a hideous w^ouv^d 
The c^u-lcteer okves have n-castes over their eyes 
The slower ov^esl They cai/v go tolled 



A llkve of v\A,ev^, scarred by war, 

stagger away, dazed a^vd sore 

The Lw.ctey OiA.es, the o^ves that we^vt billed, 

They lie ov^ the qrouv^d, while crows pecte, out their eues, 



KLevuiA, c^uo 

Coix.kvclL fzocfe High School-North 

c\rade ±o 

Mrs. "B-re^da Ha 11 



79 



Gripping Fear 

Our thumbs oppose and so must we 
Indulge in violent treachery 
Crossing fingers with every shake 
'Til gnarled are we, decrepit and fake 

One hairless finger may concern 
A fiery man who might return 
With five clenched tight into a weapon 
One left unconscious, left to step on 

Two fingers flaunted, a sign of peace 
Can poke two eyes, pacifism ceased 
And protruding thumbs will cause no cryin' 
Unless it's Titus with his lion 

But never have paws pulled triggers on fins 
Despite the deathly razor ends 
Claws retract when kittens wrestle 
Switchblades become playfully hostile 

Our thumbs oppose and so must we 

Grasp knives and guns so frightfully 

'Til crimson juice causes tools to fall 

With a severed thumb, there's no violence at all 



Chad Nobel 

Council Rock High School North 

Grade 10 

Mrs. Brenda Hall 



80 



"JL Muted '"Wortd" 



I have known the feeling ofsiCence 
'That consistent mix^of unpredictable feelings. 

The silence of a nighttime stroll 

at the end of a scorching, sizzdng summer day. 

find the si fence of peace 

JLndso I ashjnyself quizzically- 

"What is the true purpose of speech?" 

More things can he described far beyond 

the chaining bonds of words. 

There is the silence of contentment 
M/hen the Cong, laborious day is Cong gone 

JLndyou hang up your coat 

to takg leave on a hammochfn your yard 

glass of frothy root beer in hand, 

three ice cubes tossed in. 

(Daydreaming of past, nostalgic days 

There is the silence of love 

"When two friends sit side by side 

Not a single word passes between the pair 

( Exceptfor their joy 

of being in each other's presence. 

Oblivious to the time that drips slowly by 

In droning dregs 

81 



/ have fyiown the sifence of the storm 

The caCm before the bigfinaCe 

The muted sound of snow softfy landing on the ground 

find the siCence ofpensiveness 

fi mind Cost in a sea of memories 

Thoughts of times of pain, of happiness, of Cove 

When someone as^syou, "What 's wrong? " 

'You don't answer- 

°{oure in a world of your own 

find no one canpufCyou out. . . 

'Except yoursetf 

What is the use of language in a world that redes 

On our emotions atone? 

Where body language, 

Taciat expressions 

fire the answers to aft questions. 



fiCise (peckfian 

Lower MoreCand Jiigh School 

grade 9 

9rtrs. 'Mont 



82 



If You Want to Grow Up to oq a Gorilla 

When I was very young, may bo two. I dreamed of growing up to be a dinosaur. I was 
going to be the sleek and stealthy two-legged type, probably the kind with a really long 
set of claws to rip open my prey. My brother, a man of the world (he had been to two 
birthday parties), who was twice my age (he is two years and two weeks older than I), 
who attended school (three mornings a week at the local nursery co-op) set me straight. 
It was not possible for me to grow up to be a dinosaur of any type: dinosaurs are extinct. 

Realizing the truth of this logic, I fixed my dreams upon becoming a tiger, fiuch 
regal beauty concealing tremendous power seemed the ideal. Again my brother set me 
straight: tigers have four legs and live in the jungle. I am not big on heat and obviously a 
two-legged animal cannot become a four-legged one. 

Then my future became clear to me: I would be a gorilla. I ran it past my brother, 
who was a veritable font of wisdom at age four and three quarters. We discussed it and 
agreed. I would grow up to be a gorilla, and he would become a forest ranger to protect 
me from poachers. For several weeks life at our home was a gorilla life. We took several 
trips to the library to look at the reference books which were filled with brilliant color 
images of my future. I especially liked the one picture in a massive National Geographic 
book: a baby gorilla was riding on the back of an adult. That baby, he had a leaf pinched 
in his lips and a shine in his eyes, was going to be me. My mother read the words, and 
we admired the pictures. I ate bananas and slept under my bed. We had decided that this 
was as close to a leaf nest as our suburban home would allow. Then the bad news came. 
An oven more worldly third grader had heard the plan and let us know. All gorillas in the 
United States live in zoosl If I were to become a gorilla. I would become a prisoner in the 
zoo. 

Aware of this set-back, we got our mother to take us back to the library where we 
found the weighty full-sized atlas. We found the magical pages filled with bright colors 
and other secret map stuff, and we located where gorillas live wild. Africa, the only place 

83 



on Earth with wild gorillas, looked very far away from Lincoln Park, Illinois. Still, I felt 
like a gorilla. I was as big as kids several years older than myself. Further proof was 
found when we learned about the gorillas' diet. My mom explained that gorillas prefer 
fruits and vegetables and do not eat meat. "Just like me," I thought. The only meat I 
would eat was an occasional turkey dog. Most of all I knew I was a gorilla because I had 
watched them in the zoo. I would watch those wonderful silverbacks and feel I knew 
what they were thinking. Africa was clearly the only choice for me. 

Mac, the wise brother, decided that he would become a Zulu warrior. To help me in 
my goal, he took on a large responsibility. Our family became an "Impi," the Zulu term 
for a fighting unit. In the same book in which we learned about the Impi, we learned 
that Zulus could run for days on end and never rest. Mac took this feat upon himself. 
Almost daily, our mother took the family (insert any totally non-Zulu sounding. North- 
European surname you like at this point because there is no way I am admitting to any 
of this foolishness by allowing our real family name to be used). For this true story I will 
use "Smith," no I prefer something a bit grander, "Anthony") to the park. The Anthony 
Impi, was a small one by Zulu standards. Just my mom and three small boys. We went to 
the park for training purposes. I would climb and work on being a good gorilla and Mac 
would run the track. Round and round he went, not at great speed but with long steady 
strides. He did not play on the slides or swings. He just ran the hour away. When it was 
time to go home, we walked, and Mae ran. He would charge ahead, receding in front of us 
to the end of the sidewalk and then turn around. As he came back towards us. he would 
grow large again and then shoot past back along the sidewalk we had just walked. Never 
stopping, he looped around us, over and over again, running each block several times. The 
rest of the Impi just casually walked along. 

My mother never told Mae he could not become a Zulu: nor did she mention that 
eross-speeies-transmutations were not a scientific reality thereby making my becoming 
a gorilla unrealistic. She let me eat all the bananas I oared to. She let Mao run his Zulu 

84 



heart out. For a project one day we made ourselves cow skin shields in the finest Zulu 
tradition. I know/ that we started with brown paper bags and duet tape, but I also know 
that by the end they were genuine Zulu fighting shields. 

Now Mae is eighteen and still running the long course but as a cellist. He loves the 
solo hours building his music to be more than it is today. He gave up all the easiest 
parts of being a smart, handsome teenager and stayed home to struggle. He will apply 
to conservatory this week. Schools that take no students at all on some years— those, 
of course, are his goal. The short course, just walking the sidewalk with the rest, will 
not do. Once he gets in, well again that is the easy part, then he will have to get a job 
as a classical musician in a society that is not actually too big on classical music. Our 
Impi still works together. While Mac spends his day with his cello. I do his yard work 
and our younger brother gave up his room so Mac would have a private place to practice. 
The sounds of his pounding feet and steady breathing from the running years are now 
replaced with graceful hours of Johann Sebastian Bach's suites for Unaccompanied Cello. 

For my part, not being a gorilla is still a disappointment. They are such marvelous 
beings. But in my quest to follow a goal. I learned that I have a brother to whom my 
dreams matter. If I were going to move to Africa to take up my free life as a gorilla, well 
then he would move also. He dreamed of being a Zulu ranger to keep me safe. I am 
certain that he will get into a fine conservatory and leave the Impi, come Fall. When I 
was small. I saw a faraway care that dwelled in the eyes of one of the zoo gorillas. To 
me. it seems entirely possible that he was simply worried about his brother who had 
stayed behind in Africa with no one there to watch out for him. 



Harry Robinson 

The American Academy 

Grade 10 

Dr. fiharon Traver 



85 



L People who hctoejuft met my mother for the firft time atWayf refpond in one of two Wayf. Cfhey 
either fay thatfhe if a nice lady or they aJJ^ "Jfyour mom dn/n^f" 3 wifh that 3 could juft reply yefto 
that inquiry; that that wafthefimp/e truth behind her a>id gregarioufneff 3t 'Would certainly be eafier 
than apologetically t tying to explain the highly exprefffve, compaffionate yet clueleff meff that if V^Qcpletta 
zAnn T)ezJbCarco. 

(§he if better known to everyone of (Rolette ^male; a reflection of her lack of enthufiafm for her 
Italian heritage, ^hij failure to embrace her culture probably fproutffrom her childhood experience/ in 
an undeniably Italian family. zMy mother and her three fifterf Were raifed by my grandmother in an 
apartment on the dead-end ftreet of TC rd Place in (ffarroll Cfardenf 'Brooklyn. While my grandmother 
may httoe been a highly dedicated mother, Working Waitreff jobj to fupport her daughterf my mom and 
her fifterf f till knew a difficult life; lacking the money to eloen own more than one pair ofpantf ^hif 
financial ftruggle, however, Waf not nearly af delpaf fating to the TieJbCarco girlf of iff caufe. One day 
when my mother Waf ten year) old, my grandmother had to tell her and her fifterf that their father Waf 
leading them. 

Cfhe "t>ery next day, my mom came home from fchool to the newf that her father had already left. 
Jfe did not bother to Wafte time faying goodbye to hif children. 7 can picture her running into hif c/ofet, 
confufed and flocked by it) foreign emptineff D 'fee her clutching the onefweater he left behind, the one 
that had been her favorite, and her hugging it clofe and f me/ling him afjhe wept into it. ,7 hear herfhout 
in her head, why thiffweaterf T>id he lealpe it juft to maty it hurt more? <lAJ if the pain of Watching 
her father, whofe handfomeface and unufual light brown eyef and whofeftrong armf and police uniform 
fhe had taken fuch pride in; the only man in her life whom J he admired and lolped like all little girlf do, af 
if Watching him flam the door in her face becaufe he doefn't lol>e her enough to fay goodbye wafn't enough 
pain for one ten year old girlf heart. 

86 






zAj the yearf puffed, my mom and her Jifterf Would fee their father again. A trip to C7lorida 
where he had molded frith hif neve wife Would be the next and /aft time. "What Waffuppofed to be a Weefe 
long reunion with their father ended after two day f with a phone call affeng to come home; their fatherf 
new wife Waf cruel to them. JtiCy mother haf defcribed thif woman to me af an ugly obnoxiouf Utalian, 
Jimilar to the relative! on my motherf paternal fide. -]~hat ifthefource of her anti-Jtalian fentimentf U 
believe. 

What f funny today if that defpite my mom f annoyance with her background, there are few people 
J can thinly of more Italian in appearance and behavior than her. ^he jet blac^ curl/ of her youth, 
characteriftic of her Sicilian anceftry, ftill force their way through yearf of lightening-attemptf and battlef 
with hairdryer/. \And affar af haVmg a conlperfation with my mom goef U'm quite confident that a 
deaf per/on Would be able to underftand her, f/ie tallfaf much with her handf af ftie doefwith her motor- 
mouth. But ftill to be deaf would mean miffing out on her completely obYwuf Brooklyn accent, which 
twenty yearf of 'Pennfyfpania fuburbf hal>e done nothing to hinder. Where perfona/ity if concerned, all 
the ftereotypef are true. zJ\Cy mother if loud, opinionated, and Very overwhelming. But my mother if 
alfo one of the moft Warm-hearted and Jimp/eft people you will eVer meet. 7 remember for one of my 
birthday]' flie bought Jo me blanl^ Wooden furniture and painted it for me. £he waffo excited to finally 
gfoe me it. ^he kept aiding ""Do you life it £rica?!" with a grin fo fwcere and Vibrant, ^h if little 
accomp/ijhment, the poorly ftenciled moon and f tar embel/ijhmentfflie Waffo proud. J\(ot eVen 3, her 
daughter with whom her relation/hip haf been tumultuouf could deny my mother the fimp/e joy of hearing 
U loVed it. 

''Defpite all of the felfleff thingf my mother haf done for me, our relationfhip ftill remainf barely 
exiftent. Ut if true of moft teenagerf JfejoW, to not life their pare ntf and the parent) 'typically hefpe no 
patience for their unruly youth. JffoWel>er in thif relationfhip, JhaVe no patience for my mother. Jam 

87 



conftant/y queftioning her intelligence Itoel; and "While that may found like a conceited thing to jay, rather 
3 admit it grudgingly becaufe it if one of the moft embarraffing afpectf of my life. Cjfor a grown Woman 
to not underftand that the plural of the Word "hoof if "hoolpef " and to gfoe out acfoice life "(jfantaloupe 
meanf that they come from a losing family, " and to befo completely incapable of comprehending that the 
pointer on the laptop fcreen molpefwith the moufe if unexplainable to me. 

'But the more J am expofed to other familief- people who Worfhip material thing/, mother/ who 
jump at any chance to goffip, the more 3 realise that my mother really if a beautiful per/on. When held 
up againft other/ herflawfno longer feem lifyfuch utter humiliation. 3 can appreciate howfimplefhe 
if. zJfnd =7 can appreciate howjhe if grateful for eJ>eryf ingle thing in her life. €)>en though we may 
ftruggle to find common ground, and elpen though J will continue to be embarraffed by afpectf of her 
perfonality, 3 hope that Sf will alfo become humble enough to embrace thefe afpectf which malty herfuch 
afincere human being. One thing however, will alwayf remain the fame: whenever 51 talty the time to 
realize that the difheartening fituationf formerly depicted are actually facetf of the trying life my mother 
Ifoed, 3 am overcome With both awe and pride. 3 can only hope that 3 too, am made with thiffame 
unwavering ftrength that eftablijhed fuch a remarkable and admirable foul in my mother. 



Erica £ male 
c Pennridge Jfigh £chool 
iMrf^o/a 



88 



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of the Glea. 




is i^iM^i^ 



College nor st« 
plagiarism unki 



tmsm- 



1 assume responsibility for 



ccurring within. 



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